


Crimson

by id_rather_be_yellow



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Someone get mac some help, a little mcnamawyer but you have to squint, also heather has so many freckles I will fight anyone who disagrees, im really sorry, like seriously, my poor baby, oh yeah and spoilers for heathers, this is basically where shine a light reprise would be but there’s no duke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_rather_be_yellow/pseuds/id_rather_be_yellow
Summary: When Heather McNamara’s lifeboat pops, she decides it’s time to take matters into her own hands.





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, SELF-HARM, DEPRESSION, BLOOD, IMPLIDE ABUSE, IMPLIED RAPE/ASSAULT (if you squint)
> 
> im not 100% sure whether this has graphic descriptions of violence in it or not but I’m gonna put it there just in case.
> 
> Okay. So. I wrote this. And I’m very sorry. I cried a lot while writing it. Oooof. I also didn’t edit so I’m sorry for any typos or bad grammar or anything like that.
> 
> Welp it’s late and I need to sleep so good luck.

* * *

 

Heather McNamara found herself on the bathroom floor.

She didn’t remember how she got there. She only remembered brief glimpses of the past few minutes.

_A smashed mirror. A deep cut. Blood. A scream._

With a gasp, Heather looked down at her shaking hands. Sitting in between blood-caked palms was an orange pill bottle. The sleeves of her sunshine-yellow blazer were stained with blood. _Was it hers?_ She wondered. She cautiously pulled up the sleeves of her jacket, only to see crimson marks. On her wrists, on her forearms, everywhere. _Her blood._ Inhaling sharply, she yanked the sleeves back down.

She slowly pulled herself up, her weakened legs shaking uncontrollably. Her pale skin was swirled with and greens and blues and reds. Bruises.

_Running. A loud crack. A squeal. Falling._

The small girl dragged her fragile body to a stall. Her hands shook so much she could barely close the door. Placing the vividly orange bottle in her pocket, she eased herself onto the toilet seat. Placing her head in her hands, she began to cry.

_Cold water. The light flickers. Wet tile. A puddle of water or blood._

Her eyes stung as the mascara flowed into her eyes. Her tears melted the foundation and concealer off her face to reveal the patches of blue and black lining her freckled cheekbones. Bruises. Everywhere. Only vaguely remembering where they came from, she pushed the thought from her blurred mind.

She rested only a moment, cradling her bruised face in her shaking hands. Running her hands up her face, she found her hair and laced her fingers in it. Feeling her body stiffen, she began to tug at her hair. As she pulled harder and harder, she began to squeal in pain, and soon those squeals turned to screams. She wasn’t sure whether she was screaming from the pain from her still-bleeding arms, the pain from the bruises spotting her face, shoulders, waist, and hips, or the pain from the roots of her tangled hair; but she screamed until her throat burned nonetheless.

When the pain became too much to bear, she flung her head back, releasing her hair with an frantic gasp. Weakly pulling herself to her feet, she clutched the handle of the stall door, using it to hold herself up. She took a step, than another, slowly pushing the door open with each step she took.

Suddenly, she felt her legs become tangled and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. Shards of broken mirror beneath her, she felt the sharp glass pierce her skin. She felt blood begin to pour out once more as new cuts formed and old cuts reopened. As her vision began to blur, she saw something fluorescent orange fall out of her pocket. The pill bottle. Caked in blood, there it laid on the floor. She meekly reached for it, grasping the cap and pulling it towards her. She rolled to her back and held the bottle against her chest, victorious.

Waiting only a moment, she sat up and crawled to the wall. Leaning against it, she held up the bottle. She slid her fingers under the cap and pulled. Unable to open it, she muttered, “Stupid childproof caps.” She fumbled with it for a brief moment, until the cap popped off and flew onto the floor.

Gripping the open bottle with shaking hands, she saw the pills that she knew would be her savior. Makeup dripping down her face, she watched as the pills began to turn black from the river of mascara that had reached the bottle. Looking up, she glanced at the door and pulled herself against the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind her on the floor.

Taking one last blurred look at herself in a shard of mirror on the floor, she threw her head back. She raised the bottle to her lips and titled it back, feeling the pills slide onto her tongue. Closing her mouth around them, Heather McNamara smiled her last triumphant smile.

“NO!”


End file.
